


And Then There Were None

by Morgane (smilla840)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU for season 3, Dark fic, M/M, Mind the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 16:32:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilla840/pseuds/Morgane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, Dean can’t save Sam – but that doesn’t stop him from trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Then There Were None

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: incest, non-con, major character deaths (this is not a happy fic)
> 
> This is set during season 3. Despite the warnings it’s not really that dark - bittersweet, maybe? Sam is evil, but he's still Sam. He cares about Dean, he's just very delusional.
> 
> Originally posted at my livejournal.

Looking back, Dean doesn’t know when it happened. Doesn’t know how, or even _why_. He just knows he failed Sammy, failed to watch out for him and now Sam isn’t Sam anymore, except he is.

And he had been so careful, so very careful. He tried to protect him from everything, tried to keep him safe, especially after Sam had died on him, but in the end it hadn’t even mattered.

One day, he woke up in a ratty motel bed and Sam was looking at him from the other side of the room.

“What?” Dean croaked, his voice still full of sleep.

“I’ve got to go, Dean,” Sam said and he almost sounded sad.

“Sure. Give me a minute to get dressed.” Dean missed the point entirely and Sam shook his head.

“You can’t come with me.”

Dean was wide awake by then, staring at Sam as if he had grown an extra head. 

“Of course I’m coming with you.” 

“No, you’re not.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Sammy?”

“Sorry Dean.”

Then Dean blacked out, and it’s the last he sees of Sam for a long time.

*

He goes after him, of course, because for all he knows Sam’s in trouble, or got himself possessed again. And for a while he ignores the clues, the trail of bodies that seems to be following Sam. He’d rather believe that there is something after his brother, something that’s killing those people and who wants to get to Sam. And Sam, the idiot, probably thinks he is doing the noble thing and protecting _Dean_ by staying away.

It’s another seven months before he finally catches up with Sam, and by then there is no doubt possible anymore. And so Dean clings to the hope that Sam really is possessed, because then it wouldn’t be him killing those people but whoever is inside him.

If Sam is still Sam… then he is the one making the decisions. And Dean doesn’t know how to deal with that.

So he throws holy water at him and keeps him down long enough to recite every exorcism he can think of. But that has no effect and Dean is left with the unbearable truth.

He failed.

His hand doesn’t shake when he pulls the gun on his brother and Sam doesn’t try to stop him. Doesn’t throw him against the wall or yank the gun out of his hand. He just looks at him. And Dean can’t pull the trigger, letting him get away.

*

So now Dean still tries to find him, clinging to the notion that he can save him, since it’s been made painfully clear that he can’t bring himself to kill him. Because Dean tried living without Sam once – twice, really, but Stanford doesn’t count because Sam was fucking alive then – and he just… can’t.

Of course, not everyone in the hunting community has the same dilemma. In fact, when the news came out that the youngest Winchester had gone berserk, using powers he shouldn’t have to take lives, he had become a target and so had Dean. After all, it was well known that the Winchester boys were rarely apart – and who knew, maybe Dean was in on it too. 

And so Dean has to divide his time between trying to find Sam and dodging whoever is crazy enough to come after him. There are a few close calls and he isn’t all that surprised when he comes back to his motel room one night to find them waiting for him.

“Where is your brother, boy?”

Before Dean can argue that he is _not_ a boy, thank you very much, pain explodes behind his eyelids as he is thrown back against the wall and okay, that wasn’t very nice.

No way Dean is going to tell them anything now. Not that he was planning on it before. They just want to kill Sam, and that is something Dean can’t allow because Sam is the only thing he’s got left and he promised he’d find a way to save him.

“No idea,” he says flippantly, getting ready to fight if they don’t like his answer.

Predictably, they don’t.

Dean is very good at what he does, and he gives as good as he gets, but they’re still five to one – didn’t take any chance this time, bastards – and in the end there isn’t much he can do.

The last thing he sees before he passes out is Sammy, and boy does he look pissed. Then there are screams all around, and all Dean knows is darkness.

*

When he wakes up, he is still at the motel. Or maybe he isn’t, it’s kind of hard to tell. They all look the same to him now, though the lack of blood would suggest he’s been moved. Then he remembers – Sam! – and looks around wildly. That doesn’t accomplish much, except making the room spin out of control and God he is going to throw up.

A big hand pushes him back on the bed and he waits ‘til he can think again before asking: “Sam?”

He hates how his voice sounds, weak and hopeful and oh so pathetic but he is pretty beaten up – that’s got to count as an excuse, right?

“Yeah. Get some rest.”

Dean wants to protest, wants to say ‘ _is that really you?_ ’ but he is so tired and his eyelids are heavy, and he is asleep before he can open his mouth again.

*

The thing with this whole ‘not possessed’ business is, Sam loves Dean. While Meg hadn’t hesitated to shoot him, Sam will never hurt him. In fact he will do everything in his power to keep him safe.

Dean almost wishes he wouldn’t.

Because let’s face it, it’d be easier to hate someone who is bent on killing you. Even if it’s crystal clear to all involved that Dean can’t hate his brother. He can hate what he does, but not him, never him. Dean knows it, and Sam knows it too. 

And so he needs to find a way to turn him back.

*

Sam stays with him while he gets better, and doesn’t kill anyone – as far as Dean knows, though he doesn’t fool himself into actually believing it.

It’s… nice. Almost like old times. And that hurts, more than anything else. Because how can Sam still be Sam and do all the things he does? Dean’s mind just can’t reconcile the two.

When he can finally move without wincing every two steps, he expects Sam to leave again but he doesn’t. Instead he smiles that eager puppy smile and talks about a hunt in Montana and Dean doesn’t understand. He says yes, of course – because how the hell is he supposed to save Sam if he doesn’t stay with him? – but he doesn’t understand.

And life goes on. They hunt, and sometimes Sam disappears and Dean tries not to think about what he is doing. He always ends up yelling at Sam when he comes back and Sam just shakes his head sadly and says he doesn’t have a choice, that those persons have to die. One day, Dean bitterly asks if _he_ has to die too, and something flashes in Sam’s eyes.

“You do. They want you to. But I won’t let them.”

And Dean isn’t sure if that’s supposed to make him feel better.

He doesn’t understand any of this. Doesn’t understand why Sam is like this, or why he is staying with him. All he knows is that nothing he does is helping Sam, and he is getting to the end of his rope. Fast.

He still sleeps with a knife under his pillow and a gun next to his bed but he isn’t sure from whom they’re supposed to keep him safe anymore.

And sometimes, sometimes he catches his brother looking at him. Just… _looking_. The way men and women have been looking at him since he was old enough to notice. The way Sam used to look at him before he went to Stanford – and there had been a small part of him that had actually been relieved to see him go. 

So he tries to ignore it, just like he did before. He had thought college and Jessica had put that behind them. Clearly not.

 

One night, Dean is having a pleasant dream. There is no destruction, no death, no Sammy covered in blood and his dad looking at him disapprovingly, saying that it’s all his fault, and Sam asking him to kill him, over and over again.

No, this time it’s warm and oh so good as a mouth maps his skin, and fuck it’s been too long.

He wakes up abruptly when fingers are pushed inside his ass, sleep now forgotten as he stares into his brother’s eyes. His brother, who currently has two fingers deep into him, scissoring him, and fuck that’s uncomfortable.

“What are you doing?” he hisses, trying to push Sam off but to no avail because He. Can’t. Fucking. Move.

“Sam, stop!” Dean can hear the panic growing in his voice when he fails to free himself and is relieved when the fingers leave his body.

He relaxes fractionally, thinking he’s made Sam see reason but then his brother is pushing his legs wide apart and…

Dean thinks maybe he blacks out for a second because the next thing he knows he is no longer pinned to the bed by Sam’s freakish powers but his brother’s – God his brother’s! – cock is inside him and he is going to be sick.

And it hurts like hell too, but Sam is going slow, he is being so careful, and damn it, _why_? He shouldn’t be tender or gentle or… Fuck!

“Shhh… I’m going to make you feel so good,” Sam whispers as he rocks slowly inside him, dropping kisses all over Dean’s skin. “God, you feel so good… Always wanted… you’ll see, you’ll like it…”

Dean tries to block it out, tries to pretend it’s not his brother who is doing these things to him, but it’s hard to ignore Sam when he starts moaning Dean’s name over and over again as he trusts back and forth and back and forth and the dull burn fades to mere discomfort.

With horror Dean feels his body start to respond, his cock filling and his hips arching tentatively to meet his brother’s trusts and nonononononono this isn’t happening.

“Sam, please…” he pleads – for what he doesn’t know – and cries out when Sam hits something inside him that makes him see stars.

“Yes…” Sam groans, “so good…” and his trusts grow harder, wilder, sending shards of pain through Dean’s numbing pleasure. He welcomes it, welcomes the pain because this is wrong and it shouldn’t feel so good. It’s not enough to stop him from coming though, which he does with a harsh sob. Sam crushes his lips to his as he slams into him with a grunt that sounds a lot like ‘mine’ and it’s not long before he is coming too, and God Dean can feel it _inside_.

He is going to be sick.

When Sam pulls out, he makes soothing sounds at Dean and wraps his arms around him, pulling him close. Dean feels something wet on his face and realizes he is crying when Sam wipes the tears away.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Sam yawns, like he didn’t just fuck his brother – or like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Within seconds he is asleep and Dean fights the bile that threatens to send him running to the bathroom.

And he lies there, knowing there is no hope left for either of them. The reality of it leaves him empty and sore – all this, for nothing – as he reaches for his gun, careful not to wake Sam.

It’s the only thing left to do. He will never save Sam, he knows that now, but maybe, just maybe… he can _save_ him.

“I’m sorry Sammy,” he whispers, closing his eyes as he pulls the trigger. Warm blood splatters on his face and some part of him wants to laugh hysterically.

“I’ll see you soon.”

The second shot echoes in the room, but there is no one left to hear it.


End file.
